Unchosen Champion

Balor Rockshaper was bored. He had retired 500 years ago and found it didn’t live up to the hype. It wasn’t building the grand monuments that he missed, it was the simple projects that required back breaking work day after day that he longed for.

He looked at his stone hands and admired the proof of his experience. His calluses would never fade. Balor’s ancient ancestors had been simple people. Rock elementals that constructed geometric shapes within the mountains of his ancestral planet, Karak dun Drak. The assimilation of mana led them to an evolution that turned them into humanoids, though to others they still resembled boulders. Changing their shape hadn’t changed their constitution. Even after millions of years, they were still stone through and through.

The Karak, as they called themselves, didn’t try to hide their ancestry as some other species in the cosmos preferred. They were proud builders and Guild Drak, the primary faction of his people, was well respected for their abilities with stone. A steady stream of commissions for their great works kept them busy and the quality of their work was the only advertisement they ever needed. A city without a monument built by Guild Drak was no true city after all.

A grandmaster like Balor would even be specifically requested to lead grand projects, bringing glory and fortune to Guild Drak. Unfortunately, his mountain grew too tall. Other builders grew jealous of his fame, and the Guild was unhappy that some projects would be canceled by the commissioning factions rather than go on without Balor.

Fame hadn’t come on purpose. Balor just loved to build, and, when he was young, had the foresight to dedicate effort into his class and leveling. Most builders in Guild Drak only wanted to do one thing and it was build. Balor wasn't any different, but he wanted to build for a long time, so he leveled his class to maximize his lifespan.

He had gone on great campaigns exploring the unknown, became a soldier for hire and fought on planetary battlefields, and joined adventure parties completing quests and defeating terrible monsters, all for his passion for building. Eventually, it paid off. He was able to place his massive warhammer over the fireplace and relinquish his magnificent plate armor to a corner of his workshop and just focus on building things.

Many lifetimes of experience forged him into a great talent that the guild recognized to be worthy of the grandmaster title. At the time, he was thrilled with the reward, not realizing that it would be the beginning of his downfall.

Once word had spread that a new Guild Drak Grandmaster had risen, the demand for his services grew to unprecedented levels. Instead of treating lesser commissions as beneath his title as was expected of someone in his position, he welcomed them. A grandmaster who was willing to build fortifications and shelters instead of monuments and temples only increased his demand. Not that he wouldn’t build a monument, he just didn’t have any preference as long as he got to build something.

Balor was eventually forced into retirement by the Guild, told to enjoy his time in a mountain palace that they gifted him for all of his descendents. It all came to a head when a religious faction was offended that Balor wasn’t available to build a monument to their god emperor as he was already engaged with building a riverwalk for a small colony and had refused to leave the project mid completion. Once the political forces began to move, the Guild decided enough was enough from their newest grandmaster and gave him a few options.

Retirement was the most desirable for both parties.

He tried to enjoy it, but it was too cold. And boring. His family wouldn’t bother the elder Balor; those that would were long gone or off on their own adventures. They just wanted him to rest and enjoy his fruitful life in retirement.

Balor needed a new project that he could work on in relative anonymity, without the Guild knowing and without his family hounding him to relax. He had been toying with an idea to get out from under their noses, but it would require a certain amount of luck that he wasn’t sure he possessed anymore.

He had made himself available for a service position in new settlements on a baby planet. Normally, factions provided these positions in an effort to establish a foothold in a new market. It was a gamble that worked often enough that factions continued the practice. Though the profitability of such a venture depended entirely on what factions rose to dominance on the planet. Occasionally, a truly desperate person would sign up independently. They were the people who were desperate in one way or another. Unfortunately, most settlements aligned themselves with specific factions and neglected independent services. Only the hopeless would rely on escape through an independent contract.

Balor considered himself one of them, hopeless and desperate for a reprieve from retirement. If he was lucky, a settlement would snag his little workshop and he would get some work. He would show some primitives how to build a wall for the ages. He had modeled his workshop after his first, back when he was still only a journeyman stonemason. A humble affair, but it would suit his needs just fine.

These baby planets were only protected for a limited time, 111 years, the blink of an eye. Even in the infinite cosmos there were only a few being assimilated at any given time. Each one would only have a finite number of settlements, and most of them would never have need for any specific service. Once his was approved he had let himself hope anyway.

Now, a new planet had just received mana for the first time. He had watched some of the bidding for individual humans, as they called themselves. It was a populous world, though not unusually large, with an unusually high variance of potential ability among the natives. Many factions showed their interest and Balor was able to find some entertainment watching powerful factions openly enter bidding wars with each other.

He thought the planet’s people would be an interesting addition to the galactic community, as long as none of the more genocidal factions took control anyway. He found he was already rooting for the humans due to how they called their home planet. Earth. Perhaps they were spiritual cousins to his own rock elemental people.

When the Great Golem that ran the system issued him a prompt he would have jumped for joy if he wasn’t too heavy to leave the ground. His service had been requested by a mere camp on this Earth, it was still early, but he would have preferred a more established settlement to make it more likely he wouldn’t be returned early due to conquest.

He was already isolated in his palace bedroom so he accepted right away. He doubted anyone would try to visit, let alone discover his body floating in the Great Golem’s protective mana shield. He was already planning the simple walls that would impress these primitives in their bid to develop a proper civilization as his vision momentarily went black.

His spirit was whisked away and the first thing he noticed was the warmth. He thanked the Stones! Next, he noted the smell of the sea, an important factor to consider when he built this wall to last. Finally, having completed the transfer, he stepped outside and was greeted with the last thing he expected.

This pathetic camp settlement already had a magnificent wall! He couldn’t help but laugh.

—

Coop and Jones approached the newest resident where he stood, on the stoop of his shop, as his laughter slowly faded away. Coop was nervous! Wasn’t this a first contact situation? He wasn’t qualified to be an ambassador of humanity.

When they reached the alien, Coop gaped, “He’s a Dwarf!” The stonemason was short and solid looking, with thick limbs and a thicker beard that was only a slightly darker shade of brown when compared to his skin.

The Dwarf spun, “Hey now lad, it’s rude to call someone names.” He fired back, then squinted. “I’ll forgive you this time on account of your primitive nature.”

Coop was chagrined, “Sorry! Sorry! I was surprised…It’s just we have stories about a people who look like you… live in mountains or underground, long beards, love beer.” Coop was realizing he had absolutely botched this first contact.

The Dwarf-like person nodded sympathetically. “Aye, an Echo. But we are called Karak and I am Balor. Your people wouldn’t happen to worship us as Gods would you?” He asked hopefully, eyes twinkling.

Coop and Jones both shook their heads. “Well, that’s too bad…” Balor sighed disappointedly. “Got my hopes up there for a second.” He mumbled.

“Anyway! What do you even need me for? I was all excited about building a wall and you summoned me into the middle of this gorgeous thing! It’s like a prank! Whoever built this doesn’t need my help. Was it you, older but smaller one? I can smell the mountain on you.” He directed at Jones.

Unlike Coop, Jones kept his cool. “You can call me Jones, Mr. Balor. I wasn’t the one who constructed the fort, no. I can tell you all about its history if you’d like. We could take the tour, although we should wait for the day.” Jones offered.

“Yes! But let’s not wait, show me around this masterpiece!” Balor was enthusiastic, and didn’t want to wait.

Jones led the way to the mess hall, and Coop, not wanting to be left out, followed along.

“I’m Coop, by the way.” Coop introduced himself, wanting to start a conversation with Balor, and hopefully improve his impression.

“It’s Coop, huh? You wouldn’t happen to be the Champion would ya? I don’t really understand your aura and Jones seems more like the Viceroy type to me.” Balor asked as his head swiveled along the interior walls of the fort taking in the sight with the enthusiasm of a curious child.

Coop, seeing an opportunity to get some questions answered, responded eagerly, “I’m the Champion, can you tell me about my aura? Actually, what is an aura? How do you detect them? And what’s a Viceroy?”

Balor chuckled to himself, it had been a while since someone treated him casually enough to ask inane questions, “A Viceroy is a position that can be assigned when a settlement grows to a certain level, they are usually administrators or advisors. They tend to have a certain demeanor… like Jones here.” He tapered off as Jones gave him the side eye.

“An aura is a manifestation of a combination of variables, your stats, your kills, your intent. There are skills that can read aspects and other skills that mask aspects. The skills to do either are usually tied to a specific stat, but there are no hard rules when it comes to classes and skills. For example, in my true body I am a Strength based warrior. I have a passive skill that detects the Strength stat level of others. It doesn’t give exact numbers, just the feeling of whether or not they are weaker or stronger or too close to call. It helps to know when to pick a fight. Most classes will have something similar.”

“And you, my new friend, have a weird aura. No offense, but you smell like the Undead. Jones there reminds me of the mountain. And you are both so weak, if my true self was here I would need to be wary of even breathing in your direction for fear of killing you by accident.”

Coop had several followup questions about auras, about the Undead, about classes and skills, about Balor’s true self, but right as he started to ask, Balor interrupted him.

“Now don’t start thinking you can just use me as your guide to the universe and ask me every little question. I have a contract with the Great Golem to work as a stonemason and that’s all I’m allowed to do. I’m only getting away with this much because it’s all so basic, it should have been covered in your sponsorships.” Balor stated with finality.

Coop frowned. Balor’s interruption only added more questions he wanted to ask. As he accepted that he wouldn’t get more answers right now, Balor had a request for him instead.

“So, Champion Coop, I have an apprentice stonemason slot available. Could you arrange for any of your interested citizens to come to me for an interview?”

Coop hesitated just outside the mess hall. “Uhh, it’s just us, actually.”

Balor stopped as well, “Quit pulling my beard.” He squinted at the fort and back toward the shard. “You and the Viceroy claimed and have held… this?” He spread his arms to indicate the fort. “By yourselves?”

Coop just shrugged, causing Balor to shake his head with disbelief before he entered the mess hall. Jones had led countless guided tours starting from the hall, but Coop thought this one was a little special, with the alien and all.

Jones began his spiel, describing the physical specifications of the fort. Balor was like a bobblehead with the way he looked at the ceiling, at the floor, and at the walls. Coop was impressed with Balor’s discretion, the stonemason clearly wanted to use his hands more than just his eyes.

Jones continued to give the fort’s background before the walking tour began, but when he described the construction process, Balor had a fit.

“You mean to tell me humans created this structure WITHOUT MAGIC?! You take me for someone with air for brains!” Balor was indignant. Jones on the other hand was enjoying himself more than Coop had ever seen. Such an enthusiastic audience was a special treat, especially one that actually engaged the host.

“Indeed, Earth had no mana until a mere seven days ago.” Jones continued in his steady tone, he couldn’t help but let a smirk slip out as he continued. “Over 20 million stone bricks were placed by 200 prisoners in 13 months.”

“LIAR! You expect me to believe this was built without mana? Fine! But to claim it was done through forced labor and not by dedicated artisans is too far.” Balor was gripping his beard with both hands, like a security blanket. Coop watched as his fists opened and closed one after the other.

Jones was ruthless and continued with some more fort trivia. “Construction was completed nearly 500 years ago, and the fort has weathered over 400 hurricanes and tropical storms in that time.”

“500 YEARS!? HAH! Impossible! Even with mana that would be unlikely given the proximity to the sea. I have caught you in your lie. Now explain what these hurricanes are.” Balor was still gripping his beard, and the rims of his eyes were red and panicked. Coop was getting worried, he didn’t think Jones should keep pushing the stonemason. This fort was a purely utilitarian construction, he imagined what Balor would do if he learned about some of the Wonders of the World. His head might explode.

Coop tried to derail the conversation by explaining hurricanes to the agitated alien. “A hurricane is a storm with sustained winds above 75 miles per hour and they’re usually like 400 miles wide. Lots of rain and wind basically.” Coop trailed off realizing that Balor might not recognize miles, but the haunted look that Balor gave him told him that he got it. Coop supposed that was the effect of his Common Language passive skill.

Balor sat down heavily onto one of the benches. It creaked desperately under his weight, not built for the density of a Karak. Balor just held his head in his hands. Coop was worried they had given their first alien resident a nervous breakdown.

“It can’t be… I’m a grandmaster… what is this place… what are humans…” Balor was mumbling to himself and Coop looked at Jones for help. Jones just shrugged, not worried at all, apparently.

Jett had interrupted her nightly prowl to come see what all the yelling was about and Coop scooped her into his arms to pet her. Balor was stuck in a mumbling loop. After a few pets he sat with Balor and put Jett down on the table to keep petting her.

Balor looked up from his lap toward the cat and froze for a moment. Then he nearly leapt off the bench and dropped to his knees with his forehead on the ground. Coop thought the ground shook with the force of Balor diving to the floor.

“Please forgive me your grace! I had no idea I would be so lucky as to meet one of your prestige! I am not prepared to greet you properly!” Balor begged and pleaded from the floor. Coop was even more confused, but Jett took it in stride and meowed at Balor’s folded up form, before she continued her patrol of the fortress.

After only a few more moments, Balor slowly returned to his feet. He was clearly shaken. Coop was finding himself confused a lot these days and this was another of those times.

Balor finally cleared his throat, “Well, I guess that explains a few things. Jones, if you could continue.” He nodded at Jones. Coop thought it was a bit forced, but tried to be silently supportive.

Jones led them into the hall and began highlighting specific features of the fort. He also pointed out where repairs had been done, and where repairs were still needed. Balor nodded along and looked thoughtful. When Jones mentioned the upcoming hurricane season Balor’s eyes got wide. He asked if the storms lasted a whole season, but Jones corrected his misunderstanding.

Jones eventually shared their plans for the settlement in the courtyard as well, and Balor started looking less pale as he got more excited about how ambitious the projects would be. He could build nearly all of the infrastructure and make repairs to the existing stone work. He promised to take a look at the damaged lighthouse, and then further promised to make it his first priority when learning it was where Jett had lived.

They left Balor back at his workshop, he had his personal quarters on the second floor. Jones thought it went well and was excited about their stonemason, but Coop was worried about the guy. Whatever he was going through when taking in the details of the fort could not have been good for his blood pressure.

Coop and Jones parted for the night, and Coop made plans for the next day.

He believed it was time to reestablish a routine, but a more healthy one than the ones he used when dealing with survivor’s guilt and grief over his parents. He wasn’t sure if exercising even did anything anymore now that there was a system determining Strength and Agility values, but he didn’t think it would hurt to do some cardio and lift some weights anyway. It would probably be good for his mental health at least.

As he drifted off to sleep he felt the determination to have a fulfilling day that only ever came right before bed.